A Decade Since
by Konstantinsen
Summary: Four friends gather in Solitude during an annual celebration. A brief snippet on the lives of those who were influenced the most by one of Skyrim's legendary heroes.


**NOTE: Yeah, I got myself a copy of Skyrim. Pretty much. Had to write this down so I could concentrate on other things.**

 **EDIT (December 14, 2016): Read this again. Thought I'd make a few edits here and there. Thanks for reviewing.**

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Solitude was alight with celebration. The Bards' College held its annual festival widely known throughout Skyrim and in many circles across Tamriel: the Burning of King Olaf.

The massive effigy of the legendary Nordic leader burned amid the cheers and hoots of the festive crowd. Come nightfall, the embers from Olaf's likeness sundered into ashes under the boots of one too many excited patrons, some of whom were far deep in mead. The central yard of the Bards' College soon simmered down until Masser and Secunda were high in the sky, blanketed with strips of vibrant aurorae.

Across the yard, Lucia and Sofie rose from their benches. Both knew that another tankard of mead would set them both reeling off their feet despite their own mettle. And so while still sober, they made their way onto the street, meandering through the crowd until reaching the alleyway that led into the patio of their Solitude manor aptly named Proudspire.

The view from the porch alone was breathtaking as the manor had been built alongside Solitude's exterior wall, allowing for a rare glimpse through the battlements. Both ladies sat by their favorite window to enjoy the view of the Sea of Ghosts, the crests of the million waves shining with the light of the two moons.

"Sis, how long has it been?" Lucia asked loud enough so as not to be drowned out by the noise from the street.

"This again?" Sofie groaned.

Lucia shrugged, her eyes trailing the endless blue horizon. "It just occurred to me. I know, I know. But I couldn't help it."

The younger of the two sighed. "Ten years?"

Lucia's lips curved slightly. "Oh, how the days pass."

"Don't you get the same view back at Winterhold?" Sofie asked, attempting to derail the topic.

"Usually just snow and sea and the occasional blizzard. All you have is either the waters below or the skies above. It gets old after awhile."

Mulling the thought, Sofie rested her head on her arms, following her sister's gaze to the north. Ten years ago, she vividly recalled, this very porch hosted a family. And since then, that family has dwindled to only the two of them. That is, if they counted their many friends as family.

The Companions and the mages at Winterhold were family. Most of Whiterun was. Mostly because of the legacy that was left behind by the man who adopted them.

The shuffling of boots up the patio steps startled them. They relaxed when two familiar faces rose out of the darkness into the light of the sconces. Lucia was the first to laugh.

"Blaise, do you ever wear anything other than what the Legion gives you?" she teased.

The captain of Castle Dour's garrison mimicked a frown. Beside him, Alesan chortled.

Sofie threw them both a raised brow. "So what have our two lovebirds been up to?" she said, her voice dripping with playful malice.

"Oh, I'm sure the sweet rolls and the spiced wine would have done you both over," Blaise replied. "Legate Brusitis would sure love your sass, Sofie. He'd probably have you mopping up the barracks for that."

"That's why I joined the Companions," she snickered back. "No standing orders to stand around all day waiting for something to happen, right?" Her voice bellowed a giggle. "Just kidding, Blaise. What? Had too much mead? Lighten up."

Blaise plopped onto the bench near the door that led into the foyer. "Ah, you know, work, work, work. It's not just the swords that crack after a while. Even the quills go dull. Not to mention the lack of parchment for filling out those reports. And the regiment that's being raised; it's not like you could get fresh recruits as quickly as in Cyrodiil. Gods, what a mess."

"Captain, if I may, the seaborne contract service is always open," Alesan chided from the doorpost. His bulging Redguard arms folded proudly to display the varicose veins of hardy seamanship coupled with the scars from innumerable encounters with raucous pirates and landlubber bandits. "You can swim in that, right?"

"Oh, very funny, Alesan. This is my only day of the month to get off and I end up with a barrel of sass from the rest you," the captain sneered.

Lucia and Sofie giggled. "The Legion sure does a good job of making you really stiff, you know that?" the former remarked.

Blaise sighed, a smile finally forming above his bearded chin. "I guess that's true. But with heavy steel comes stiffness and I can't say otherwise."

Alesan titled his head at the Imperial crest adorning the captain's breastplate. He knew how much Blaise had to go through to get this far in his career to be finally given the honor to wear the Dragon Seal of the Emperor. And he damn well respected that. Even then, there was always room for a bit of fun. "So are you forging plate mail for the horses, too?"

"Hah," he said. "You should see the mail coats we stockpiled. It's not easy outfitting steeds with steel. But I have seen them hold off a hail of arrows and I can assure you, I have no regrets in having Jonna covered in plates up to her tail."

"I wonder how she's going to get around. She's already having to deal with you and your bulky armor," Lucia snickered.

"And who knows how much you've been eating, too," Sofie added to a mix of haughty laughter from the other two. "Does your bum ever hurt from the steel poking out of the saddle?"

"Ha. Ha. Very funny. Just because your horse can move faster than mine does not mean that I can become the butt monkey of your satirical advances against barded steeds," Blaise retorted.

"You can always ride around them and land a few strikes or two," Sofie supplemented, "Just like how dad used to... Well, you know. When..."

The smiles quickly disappeared from their faces. Even as they looked up at the aurora stretching across the skies, painting Masser and Secunda in differing shades of green and blue, the memories had already resurfaced in full and the nostalgia plagued them with an intensity of a sudden headache.

"Yes. I remember rearing his steed for him," Blaise remarked offhandedly.

"Old Queen Alfsigr. One of the toughest horses I've seen," Alesan recalled. He breathed deep. "By the gods, she could put down a whole band by herself."

"And the lance," the captain continued, "The way he hefted it. A single charge was all it took and the whole line was shattered. Even outran the riders...before they could reach the shield wall."

The Redguard noticed the dryness in the air. He cleared his throat and placed his hand on the Blaise's shoulder. "Well, we can all agree on one thing: he taught us all how to fight on horseback."

Lucia and Sofie nodded their heads in agreement. Blaise finally offered a wide grin, as silly as he appeared, and the memories of tragedy for the moment disappeared from their minds. "He taught us well. You know, he would have been proud to see us all here."

"Aye, that he would have been," Lucia lightly agreed.

"Wherever he may be," Sofie softly added.

Alesan looked across the porch to the Sea of Ghosts and the north to where the legendary ancestral homeland of the Nords rested, most probably under a mountain of ice and frost. A seaman of seven years, the thought of journeying miles to the birthplace of Ysgramor lingered as a dream in the recesses of his mind.

He half wondered if those five ships sailed north to Atmora instead of east to Akavir. If so, perhaps they would have returned with ancient Nordic treasures and gripping tales of frost-bearded kings. Perhaps they could have just returned.

Alas, they did not. For Akavir was a place of mystery and untold danger. A place where a Septim emperor was once felled.

And so the four people gathered by the view deck of Proudspire Manor could only reminisce the days when they were but orphans under the care and tutelage of what many now called the Dragonborn.

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 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: February 13, 2016**

 **LAST EDITED: December 14, 2016**

 **UPLOADED: December 14, 2016**


End file.
